


Remorse

by magyarok



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Family & Law spoilers, Ficlet, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magyarok/pseuds/magyarok
Summary: The end, but at what cost?(or: Aleksei is too overwhelmed.)





	Remorse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProphetDreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProphetDreaming/gifts).

> Written as a gift for my friend, featuring her cat burglar OC!

It should’ve felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and in a way it did, yet his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the scene over and over again; tankards in the wooden table, the Cheery Man and his daughter having their drinks before violent convulsions followed, the sharp glances they gave him when he clumsily made his way out of the Medusa’s Head, the soul-crushing guilt that came afterwards.

(And good Lord above if he can’t forget that, how it all came crashing down _ so _ abruptly he might suffocate in his guilt.)

That bright smile that was usually plastered in Aleksei’s round face had almost vanished completely, being replaced by a sad frown. There was a void in him that even his appetite for sweets couldn’t fill, growing larger and larger by each passing day. Guilt wasn’t the sole emotion he felt - there was grief mixed in that stung far deeper than it should whenever he thought of the Cheery Man (perhaps, just perhaps, there had been some twisted affection for the thief-prince), creeping through the cracks of his mind. 

He hadn’t set a foot in the Hill, either, his gut telling him that he wasn’t welcome there any longer. His days went on mostly the same for a little while (the thievery and the food) but it soon became evident that he lacked any energy for doing so. At times, in his sleep, he’d see their faces in the distance, watching his movements. Sometimes the scene would be foggier, but he still could tell clearly that the Last Constable and the Cheery Man were there, their faces never changing beyond a neutral expression. More often than not he’d wake up in cold sweat, gasping for air as his hazel eyes would look around every corner with fear, wondering if it was really a dream or not.

(But he’s gone, and yet he cannot feel relief at the lack of blackmail for too long before he remembers - 

\- he _ can’t _ forget.)

“They’re dead,” it escaped from his lips. “I -”

It only hammers it further.

(But how could had he known that it’d end up like that?)

Yet no tears could be shed.


End file.
